[First step complete, Lord Dionysus.]
[Now… shall we hunt?]
A wicked smile spread across his lips. "I like them thick."
[I meant for clothes, Lord Dionysus. I am aware you are a sex god, but must you default to depravity?]
"Shut the hell up," Dionysus growled as he stepped on the brakes and slid out of the car.
[What are you doing?]
"Shut up. I will not repeat myself."
Dionysus leaned casually against the side of his newly acquired vehicle, his skin glowing under the dying light of the sun. The white shawl draped low on his hips left little to the imagination, his chest bare, gleaming like sculpted marble. His fingers traced the curve of the car's hood absentmindedly as he considered its potential for his earthly escapades.
Laughter. Giggling.
His head tilted slightly. Two young women approached, their eyes locked onto him with unmasked intrigue. Their hips swayed, their smiles coy, but their intentions were unmistakable.
One of them, a brunette with sultry red lips, reached out, her fingers gliding across his bicep. The blonde beside her followed suit, letting her hands brush against his chest, her touch lingering.
"You're something else," the brunette purred, tilting her head flirtatiously. "Are you a model? An actor?"
"You look like a god," the blonde whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. "Too perfect to be real."
Dionysus's jaw ticked. Their hands continued to roam, bolder now. They pressed into him, their breath warm against his skin, their sweet nothings descending into hushed giggles.
He let them play their little game for a few moments before sighing. "Turn around and leave me alone."
His voice carried the weight of an undeniable command.
The result was immediate. The light in their eyes dimmed, their movements mechanical as they pivoted and walked away without another word.
Dionysus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark waves.
[I see you've resorted to basic crowd control. Efficient. Lazy. But efficient.]
Dionysus rolled his shoulders, glaring. "When did mortal women become so bold?"
[When did you start pretending you dislike the attention?]
"They were all over me," he admitted, a note of annoyance threading his voice. "Aggressively so."
[Shocking. A half-naked, sculpted male specimen leaning against an expensive car? How could they possibly resist?]
Dionysus scowled. "So my lack of clothing was an invitation?"
[The words 'fuck me' were practically written across your abs.]
His frown deepened. "I need to look like these 'earth regular men.'"
[That would require more than clothes. But, yes, let's start there.]
Dionysus crossed his arms. "Where do I acquire them?"
[Your chariot awaits. Get in. I will direct you.]
Dionysus moved to obey but stopped as another young woman approached. Low-slung jeans, crop top, a predatory gleam in her eye.
"Stop her," he ordered sharply.
[Unfortunately, my interference is limited to advising, ridiculing, and keeping score of your impending failures. Mortal affairs? Not my department.]
Dionysus's eyes narrowed. "What use are you then?"
[Consider me an executive assistant. The kind that watches their boss fail with mild amusement.]
"This is a nightmare," he muttered, slipping into the driver's seat.
The woman's mouth opened, he slammed the door and sped off before she could utter a word.
[Progress. You ran away before she could touch you. I'll mark this down as a victory.]
Dionysus gripped the wheel, his knuckles whitening. "I loathe this place."
[Give it time. Either the mortals will grow on you, or you will descend into madness. Either way, I win.]
Soon
Dionysus parked the truck with little care, stepping out with effortless grace. His shawl fluttered around his hips, baring just enough to make onlookers pause mid-stride. He exhaled, eyeing the polished boutique storefront with skepticism.
[Destination reached, Lord Dionysus. A suitable establishment for your mortal attire.]
His lip curled slightly. "This is it?"
[Yes. I selected a high-end boutique to accommodate your, let's call it, divine proportions.]
Dionysus adjusted the shawl on his hips with a huff and strode inside. The soft chime of bells announced his arrival. The boutique gleamed with elegance, mirrors lined the walls, racks of impeccably arranged clothing stood like soldiers, and the air carried a subtle blend of cedarwood and vanilla.
The moment he stepped inside, the room seemed to hold its breath. Conversations halted. A few salesgirls near the counter froze, their eyes locked onto him with barely concealed awe. One let out a faint gasp before dissolving into whispered excitement.
A tall woman in her mid-thirties, sleek-haired and sharp-lipped, approached with the practiced grace of someone accustomed to handling important clients. But the way her gaze traced his sculpted form betrayed her professionalism.
"Welcome to Elegante Designs, sir." Her voice was smooth, yet softer than intended. "How can we assist you today?"
Dionysus barely spared her a glance. "I need clothes."
The manager blinked, momentarily thrown. "Of course. Do you have a preference? Formal, casual, or perhaps…" Her voice dipped. "Something more… relaxed?"
[She is attempting to flirt. Humans consider 'relaxed' a euphemism. Predictable.]
Dionysus ignored the system's input, as well as the woman's expectant expression. "Something practical. Shirts. Pants. Suits. Enough for a few days."
The manager clasped her hands, looking as though she'd been entrusted with a sacred mission. "Right this way, sir," she said, gesturing toward the fitting area.
As he followed her, the weight of every gaze in the boutique pressed onto him. The salesgirls trailed behind in hushed awe.
"He looks like a god," one murmured.
"Or a model," another corrected, breathless.
Dionysus's jaw tightened. He didn't mind admiration, but only on his terms.
The manager led him to a dressing room surrounded by mirrors. "Let me pull a few selections for you." She nearly bolted to the racks, returning moments later with an armful of options.
Dionysus picked up a crisp white shirt, examining it. "This?"
"Perfect for you," she said, her voice near a purr.
He slipped it on with a pair of tailored black slacks. When he stepped out of the fitting room, the manager let out a quiet, breathy "Wow." The salesgirls weren't much better, their excited whispers barely concealed.
"He looks like he stepped out of a dream."
"Or a magazine cover. My God."
Dionysus turned his head slightly, golden gaze catching theirs in the mirror. They fell silent, their faces burning as they pretended to rearrange clothing racks.
"Too tight," he muttered, tugging at the cuffs.
"I think it's perfect," the manager countered, almost pleading. "But if you'd like, we can adjust, "
"No need," he said, retreating into the fitting room.
Outfit after outfit followed. A navy suit that fit like a second skin. A simple gray T-shirt and dark jeans. A sleek black jacket that made him look like he belonged to an entirely different era. Each time he emerged, the whispers grew louder, the compliments more effusive.
[You are breaking them, Lord Dionysus. They may require divine intervention to recover.]
Finally, he settled on a white linen shirt and dark trousers, simple, yet only emphasizing his otherworldly presence. He selected a few more pieces, gathering them before heading to the counter.
The manager, hands trembling slightly, offered him a deep red tie. The fabric was soft, luxurious. "A gift," she murmured, cheeks reddening as she held it out.
Dionysus took it, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He gave her a faint smile, distant, yet devastating.
Her breath hitched. The color on her face deepened.
[Congratulations. You have successfully rendered a mortal speechless.]
Ignoring the system, Dionysus gathered his bags and strode toward the exit. His golden aura shimmered under the boutique's lighting, leaving the room steeped in stunned silence.
Behind him, the salesgirls exhaled collectively. The manager pressed a hand to her chest, visibly flustered.
[You leave chaos in your wake, my lord.]
Dionysus tossed the bags into the truck. "This place is insufferable," he muttered.
[Perhaps. But you certainly left an impression.]